Chapter 1
by Kris Anderson
Summary: In the Beginning: Chapter 1


I

With a slight push of hand, the off-centered door creeks open. Caliban enters the derelict residence and scowls at his new surroundings with a steady, surveying glare. His rubber-soled boots squeak across the warped wood floor as he conducts a quick investigation for any evidence of rats and other vermin that may be lurking in the various dark corners and moldy crevices of the small East San Luiz apartment. After discovering no signs of imminent invasion, Caliban scans over the room with his orange eyes and concludes, "What a dump" with a deep-throated sigh.

After flipping over the soiled mattress and checking it for any anomalous lumps, Caliban begins to unload his gear in the far corner of the room near the closet. He takes the leather sheath from off his right shoulder and props it against the wall. The light machine gun encased within the leather sheath sturdily rests against the molded plaster wall of the dilapidated apartment. Caliban runs his hands over his body and decides to keep his Needler pistol in its thigh holster just in case some unfriendly neighbors come knocking. He checks his blades and finds his throwing daggers in their appropriate locations: one stuffed in each boot, one tucked under the sleeve of each forearm, and two resting on his waist.

Next, Caliban removes his long sword from his waist sheath and places it next to where his rifle is leaning against the wall. He then unstraps his backpack and hefts it to the floor. With the flick of a buckle, Caliban removes his personal force field generator and gently places the small artifact near his backpack.

Moving away from the closet and along the far wall, Caliban approaches the solitary window in his room. He steps up to the window and glances around outside at the city streets below. Looking out upon the ruins of a once proud city of the Ancients, Caliban contemplates aloud. "I bet this place has seen better days."

Returning to his preparations, Caliban makes his way over to the small desk found within the room. He grips the desk on its far side and pushes the wooden chunk of furniture in front of the door. After feeling a little more secure, Caliban lies down upon the mattress, fully dressed in his gray patterned jumpsuit, and waits for the arrival of his contact.

A few moments pass before footsteps are heard in the hallway outside Caliban's room, which prompt him to move quickly to his feet. Caliban jumps up from his resting spot, snatches up his rifle, and rushes over to stand beside the door. His heart begins to race as he anticipates what could be someone other than his contact people standing outside his doorway. A dozen uncomfortable seconds pass and then the sound of footsteps stops just outside Caliban's door. A knock is heard. Caliban pauses and then yells through the wooden barrier. "Just a minute!" He stands in silence beside the door, gripping his weapon, and carefully listens for any conversation that might indicate that his visitor is someone less expected.

After hearing nothing but silence, Caliban props his rifle against the wall and quickly moves the wooden desk away from the doorway. He then cracks open the door to see two armed men standing before him. One of the men is of husky stature and appears to be of a pure strain human stock. He has white skin, short blonde hair poking below his tan cap and a trimmed, blonde beard. Standing just over six feet tall, Caliban notices that he does not appear to be wearing any armor, just a button-up shirt, with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, and green camouflaged fatigues. Caliban's attention is immediately drawn to the man's right arm, seen wielding a dual-barreled machine gun. He then turns his head toward the humanoid beside him. The second stranger is of slighter stature, with dark, sandpaper-like skin. He appears tall, angular, and abnormally thin for his size. The humanoid seems to be ill at first glance. Wearing only a metal helmet for armament, the humanoid's beige shirt bears a red embroidered cross on his left shoulder and right breast pocket. A dark green visor covers his eyes. Gripped in his right hand is a sub-machine pistol. A rocket-propelled grenade launcher can be seen strapped to his back.

Caliban looks at the blonde-haired man and addresses him. "Hello, Zeiliff." He then turns to the humanoid, nods his head, and says, "Sven." Without receiving any response from the two visitors, Caliban abruptly turns away from the door and walks toward his pile of gear that is stacked up next to the closet. "I'll be right with you."

The strangers exchange glances of bewilderment. "Who the hell is Zeiliff?" the blonde man asks his partner in a gruff tone.

"More importantly, who is Sven?" the thin man replies with a curious accent. The blonde man shrugs his shoulders and peers into the apartment after Caliban.

Caliban stands by the closet while he collects his gear and straps on his backpack and force field generator. He looks over at the blonde man who is found locked in a fixating stare at him and says with a leering smile, "I took a guess with your names. But, hey, nobody's perfect."

The blonde man remains expressionless and then loudly speaks. "You must be Caliban. I'm Arinar. This here is Doc. We have a vehicle waiting outside for you."

Caliban nods toward the man in affirmation, grips his sword, and slides it into his belt sheath. He then walks toward the door, retrieves his assault rifle from leaning against the wall, and exits the apartment behind the Arinar and Doc. The three men walk briskly down the short hall and outside of the dilapidated apartment complex. A restored civilian ground car is found parked on the curb. Doc makes his way for the driver's side while Arinar opens the back door and motions for Caliban to get inside. As he prepares to seat himself, Caliban notices a disheveled pedestrian walking across the street. The pedestrian stops and stares coldly at the car. Caliban carefully watches the vagrant for a few moments until the man wanders away. He then seats himself inside the vehicle. Once Arinar is firmly planted in the backseat, Doc starts up the engine and begins to accelerate down the street toward the heart of the city.

"So, guys, what do you think of this place- it's pretty run down isn't it?" Caliban asks his companions in a curious tone.

Arinar blankly looks over at Caliban and replies, "I wouldn't worry about it. You won't be here long. From what I hear, the man has a job scheduled for you tonight."

Doc chuckles softly while shaking his head. The vehicle makes several turns and drives deeper into the ruins of San Luiz. Doc is careful to avoid large spills of rubble onto the street and otherwise nasty-looking potholes.

The two men seem very impersonal and business-like to Caliban. They make no attempt to initiate conversation with him during the drive, as if they were picking up an inanimate package and delivering it to its proper place. After suffering through several minutes of awkward silence, Caliban glances over Arinar's cannon and attempts to strike up a verbal exchange with him about his weapon. "Now _tha_ t is an impressive piece of equipment."

Arinar looks at Caliban with a hint of emotion finally seeping through his otherwise austere face. "You like that do ya? Splinter did the overhaul on it last week. You'll meet him in a few minutes. He's a good guy… can make a portent out of a hover car steering wheel and a piece of duralloy." Arinar then looks away and seems to focus his attention upon the surroundings outside the vehicle.

The car passes several street corners crowded with humanoids and disfigured sentients. Caliban peers out the car window and quickly comes to the realization that he has yet to see one pure strain human walking about the city streets. The town seems inhabited by a motley crew of odd life forms. Anything resembling an erect-standing human is completely absent from the surrounding neighborhoods and, other than Arinar, he has yet to spot a pure strain.

"Hey, guys," Caliban blurts out in excitement to break the uncomfortable silence once more. "I got this nifty communicator here. It has a flip-top screen and everything. Check it out!" After neither of the two men respond or take notice to Caliban's show and tell exercise, he then asks, "Can you tell me the radio frequency that everyone's going to be using for the job?"

Doc continues to chuckle loudly without directly responding to Caliban's inquiry.

Arinar then says, "Take it easy, bud. You'll find out all you need to know at the debriefing. You don't want to be talking to Bolor anyway. He's a bit slow and hard to understand."

The civilian ground car slows down and enters a subterranean tunnel once utilized as a subway shaft. Caliban remembers hearing of these tunnels before. They were extensive networks of an underground transportation system previously used by the Ancients. But now, many decades later, they were rumored to be inhabited by one of the most violent street gangs of East San Luiz. "Why are we going down here?" Caliban asks, as the vehicle rides forward into the enveloping darkness. His companions do not respond.

After several days of travel, Salvo reaches San Luiz and makes his way to the city center by foot. Standing in front of the Terminal Tavern, he examines his surroundings carefully. The south side of the Terminal Tavern borders a narrow street. Both the west and east sectors of the tavern stand adjacent to damaged, but still functional, structures. The north face of the tavern is exposed to a vacant lot of rubble and ruins. The city streets of this district are very compact, narrow, and busy with foot traffic.

Parked along the main street in front of the tavern are two civilian ground cars. Both are non-functioning wrecks. The first car, of light green coloration, is parked about a yard away from the corner. The other vehicle is painted blue and is devoid of wheels. The chassis of the blue car rests on large stones placed directly in front of the tavern, approximately fifteen feet behind the green car on the curb. Salvo also takes notice of a garbage can lined in cement near the curb, just in front of the propped-up blue car. Half a block down the sidewalk lies a railed off area on the sidewalk. This area is about two feet from the curb and spans ten feet by three feet. The black iron rail stands three feet tall and makes the perimeter of the area. Inside the sector is a small patch of orange grass and a mutated Elm tree. Salvo turns around and visualizes similar landscape architecture across the street on the south side. The only vestige of a vehicle on the other side of the street, however, is a shell of a car left many years ago along the curb.

Salvo casually strolls into the Terminal Tavern after pausing to make sure that the large wooden door of the primary entrance is shut behind him. He looks around the dank tavern and notices a communal bathroom to his right with an open swinging door. The smell emanating from the nearby bathroom mingles with the fragrances of bar food and charbroiled grease. Turning his head to locate the smell of food, Salvo spots the kitchen area of the tavern to his immediate left, blocked by a thick door. An orange-skinned humanoid appears from behind the kitchen door carrying a small plate of herbage. He quickly disappears into the flocks of people socializing along the tavern's central hallway. The short hallway runs but a short distance to the south side of the building, away from the primary entrance. Salvo makes his way down the short hall and stands in the foreground of two large rooms.

The old tavern is divided into two primary rooms. The larger of the two rooms lies in the northwestern corner of the wooden structure and serves as a dance floor for the tavern's patrons. The walls are lined with several barstools and high tables along the west wall. Several dozen humanoids and a scattering of pure strain humans dance erratically to the mystical beats pounding forth from the disc jockey booth. The smaller room, found in the northeastern sector of the tavern is the speakeasy room. This room contains approximately a dozen round tables with four chairs to each table. On the northern wall of this room is the rear entrance to the establishment leading to a vacant lot. Lined along the southern and eastern walls of this room are wooden barstools. The northwestern corner of this room houses the serving area bar of the tavern. This bar is lined in front with six high stools.

Sitting four stools down at the bar, Salvo notices a very attractive, blue-skinned humanoid woman, with four voluptuous breasts and two pairs of arms. He scans the speakeasy room for his friend Zeiliff. Salvo casually enters the speakeasy room without having any sight of Zeiliff and heads directly north across the floor. He seats himself at the bar next to the blue-skinned woman and orders a light drink.

Salvo glances over at the woman and offers a sly grin in her direction. He watches her eyes as they first gleam back at him and then slowly begin to focus on something behind his back. Salvo follows the gaze of the mutant woman and prepares to turn and look behind himself while still remaining seated at the bar. Without hesitating, Salvo reaches his right hand into his duffel bag and grips his viper rifle. With his rifle still within the duffel, he spins around the stool slowly enough to not create a startle but fast enough to get a good glimpse of who or what is behind him. Once turned around, Salvo's eyes meet the scared face of Zeiliff.

"You have to help me," Zeiliff says in a shaky voice while looking rapidly around the room.

"Hey, nice to see you too," Salvo replies as he notices long beads of sweat dripping off of Zeiliff's face and his heavily panting breath.

"They're after me!"

Salvo quickly realizes the serious nature of the situation and begins to focus on Zeiliff's utterance. "Who? What are you talking about?" Salvo then feels a warm hand on his thigh and the sweet voice of the blue-skinned girl beside him.

"Hey, sexy. Maybe you and your friend can entertain me for awhile" the sexy tone echoes in Salvo's ear.

Salvo leans around in the bar stool and faces the female, only to see her fondling her breasts with her top set of arms while her other set of arms are slowly work up his thighs.

A loud crash shatters the sensual mood and Salvo turns to look toward the entrance of the building. Three thug-looking mutants rush inside the tavern, packing pistols. In a flash, Zeiliff bolts off in the opposite direction, quickly pursued by the three mutants. Salvo stands up from his barstool and jolts after the mutants heading toward the rear of the tavern. He follows the procession up to the rear entrance and then stops. Still gripping his rifle within his duffel bag, Salvo whips around the corner and immediately hears gunfire. Pulling back, Salvo braces himself against the doorframe and ducks back inside the building. The firing ceases and people begin to flee the tavern and crowd up the primary exit. Dialogue is heard outside from three separate voices.

"Confirm that the target is down," grunts a husky voice from outside.

"The target is down... permanently," returns one of the three men in a business-like fashion.

"Does he have it on him?" a loud, belligerent tone asks.

"No, there's nothing here," responds the previous voice.

A pause breaks the conversation as Salvo nervously tries to piece together in his mind what has just taken place.

"This is track team to unit one, over," the husky voice returns from behind the tavern.

A scratchy voice over a personal communicator is then heard stating, "Go ahead."

"Target is down and without the device, over."

"Copy that, track team. Return to control," the voice over the communicator demands.

Salvo slowly peers around the corner to catch a better look at the three thugs. One appears to be pure strain human. He has a husky, low-toned voice. The man seems to be packing some sort of technology-based backpack gear that looks like a communication device and a black shoulder satchel that looks like it could be explosives. He stands motionless over Zeiliff's body while holding a small, gray pistol. Another man stands next to the first. He is also apparently a pure strain human, at least by external physical characteristics. He has a loud voice and is packing a light blue-green leather backpack with a grenade launcher strapped over his shoulder. This man is bald and stands firm while waiting for directions from his comrade bearing the communication equipment. He stands holding a black, large caliber pistol.

The third thug is seen kneeling over Zeiliff's body. After patting down the clothing on Zeiliff's body, the man stands erect and appears very tall and slender. Salvo takes note that this third man is also a pure strain human and is currently packing a black pistol in his grip. All three men suddenly turn their attention away from Zeiliff's body and begin to stroll back into the tavern.

After noticing that the three thugs are moving back toward the tavern, Salvo pulls himself back inside the doorway out of their view. Salvo looks around inside the tavern and realizes that most of the patrons of the bar have cleared out and made tracks to safer drinking establishments. The only remaining persons are the bar tender and a hand full of older mutants seated at tables, apparently too intoxicated to comprehend what has just taken place. The bar tender remains stationary with his arms hanging down along his sides. The seated mutants look around the room, stunned. Dance music continues to pound from the adjacent room.

Salvo quickly walks back toward the bar where he was previously seated. Once there, he braces the rifle within his duffel bag against the floor, peers inside the bag, and searches its contents for anything that Zeiliff might have dropped inside without him noticing. A few seconds of searching leads Salvo to find only his viper rifle inside the duffel bag. There is nothing else. Salvo stands up from his barstool and quickly walks towards the front entrance while holding his rifle casually within his bag. His arms are relaxed, ready to bring the weapon up to shoot from his hip if necessary. He nervously glances around the immediate area and notices the bartender keeping a close eye on him.

With a faint grimace toward the bartender, Salvo exits the tavern by nudging the wooden door open with his shoulder and leg. He takes a quick look out toward the city street to find the usual crowds of folks walking about. Several people are seen looking in the direction of the bar and talking quietly among themselves. Several other casual observers look oblivious to what just took place but are otherwise staring at Salvo with curious glares. Salvo catches the end of a conversation of two men walking by the tavern, "... and then they just wasted him like that!" one man exclaims to the other.

Salvo immediately turns to his left and begins walking to the East. He walks around the side of the building to the southeast corner and conceals himself in a small alcove along the tavern's exterior wall. Once hidden in the shadow created by the building's alcove, Salvo grips his viper rife in standard firing position and holds it up across his chest.

The creaking sound of the tavern's front door opening pierces the silence. Salvo hears the husky voice of the man with the communicator state, "We need a visual on a black trench coat, over."

Moments later, a somewhat muffled reply comes over the small speaker of the communicator, "Copy that, track team. Transmission patching through."

"Anyone got him?" a loud voice shouts.

"Control to track team," the communicator crackles.

"Go ahead."

"The eye is negative. We have lost visual on the black trench coat, over."

"Copy that, returning to control," the husky voice responds. "We're out of here, gentlemen. Maintain casual appearance and return to central control. Weapons away and stay frosty."

Salvo waits a few seconds, then cautiously peeks around the corner of the building to see which way the men are moving. After observing all three of the men walking west at a casual pace, Salvo exhales a sigh of relief. Moments later, as Salvo is still peeking around the corner, the bald-headed man within the group stops dead in his tracks. The man holds his arms out to his sides to halt the other two men walking beside him. All three of the men stop at once. While facing forward, the bald-headed man and the tall man begin to withdraw their holstered pistols. The third man with the communication equipment momentarily grabs his left ear with one hand and suddenly whirls around in Salvo's direction. He then brings his right wrist up to his mouth and begins to talk while simultaneously reaching for a gray pistol on the side of his left leg with his other hand.

Salvo peers around the corner with only one side of his face exposed and watches as the other two men whirl around in his direction. All three men look toward Salvo. The man with the communication equipment continues to talk into his wrist and remains stationary. The other two men slowly begin to walk toward Salvo with drawn pistols. They hold their weapons at the sides of their legs, pointing toward the ground.

The taller thug speaks up, "SL Metro, sir. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Step away from the building and keep your hands where I can see them!" the bald man suddenly shouts.

Salvo continues to peek around the corner and watches as the three thugs proceed down the sidewalk toward his location. Once within firing range, Salvo shucks the duffel bag from off his viper rifle like a bad habit. The duffel bag falls to the ground at Salvo's feet as he grips the alloy metal of the weapon with both hands. He keeps an observant gaze on the three men approaching him and then calmly says, "You'd better stop right there, fellaz. Unless you want to know what a laser blast to your left nut feels like I suggest that you back up."

Two of the men begin to diverge away from each other while raising their weapons in Salvo's direction. The tall man begins to walk quickly toward the parked cars on the curb while the bald man nears the outer wall of the tavern. The remaining man with the communication equipment stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Salvo swiftly twists his body around the corner of the building and brings his viper rifle to his shoulder. He quickly takes aim at the man with the communicator and fires off two blasts to his torso.

The man yells into his communicator, "We have a hostile target, over! Repeat black trench coat is-"The man's communiqué is cut short just as the first blast of energy jolts into his chest. Once the second blast sears a hole in his chest next to the first, the man falls backwards with his arms flailing. He starts to slowly roll over just as Salvo takes aim at the bald-headed man nearing the tavern wall.

Salvo fires off two more shots with his viper rifle in the direction of the bald-headed man. Before the man can get off a shot with his raised pistol, the two blasts hit him square in his bare chest. The red bursts of light sink deep into his chest and sears his flesh with cauterized burns. The first blast throws his right arm backward, making his pistol fling from out of his hand and into the air. As he loses his balance and starts heading toward the ground, the second blast from Salvo's rifle hits him in close proximity to the first. This final blast forces the man's body in a more slanted trajectory. He falls sideways and hits the concrete sidewalk, landing on his right shoulder. The man's bald head hits the ground hard as his entire body goes into a barrel roll to avoid further assault. After making his way to his hands and knees, the bald-headed man looks up at Salvo with a stunned look on his face. Within a fraction of a second, Salvo takes aim at the third man nearing the parked cars.

After seeing his two comrades fired upon, the third man attempts to escape Salvo's aim by ducking between the parked cars. Just as the man steps off the sidewalk into the city street, Salvo's first blast catches him in the lower abdomen. Before he can feel any pain, the second burst of red energy emanating from the viper rifle nails the fleeing thug in the left breast. His body is flung backwards onto the trunk of the green car. The man's body rails the dilapidated vehicle with a loud thud as the remaining glass from the passenger side door shatters onto the sidewalk. His arms slump down, still gripping his pistol. His body remains motionless, sprawled across the back of the car.

Salvo then turns his attention to the gruff voice coming from his first victim. "Taking heavy fire, over. Please advise," the man with the communicator utters in a wounded cry. Salvo glances back to the sidewalk to see the wounded man with the communicator sitting half way up and leaning on his right elbow. His left hand has a drawn pistol in its grip and is pointing right at Salvo. The bald-headed man remains crouched down on the sidewalk. He's seen moving as he retrieves his grenade launcher from the strap on his back and pulls it around to the front of him. Salvo also catches the movement from the third man lying across the back of the car. Through his peripheral vision, Salvo watches as the third man holds his chest with his left hand and aims his pistol with his right.

Envisioning a losing fire-fight, Salvo runs out into the street and dives behind the blue car propped up on stones. He quickly crouches behind the vehicle with one knee on the ground and his viper rifle in both hands. He leans down and peers under the car in the direction of the three men.

The tall man cannot be seen. Salvo is able to establish a clear line of sight at the bald-headed man lying on his chest along the sidewalk, however. The man has retrieved his pistol and has positioned a grenade launcher on the ground in front of him within easy access of his hands. Salvo also scopes the third man crawling along the ground on his chest. He's keeping low and heading toward the front door of the tavern. The bald man looks cautious and is aiming at the car Salvo is hiding behind with his pistol.

A crunching sound of shattered glass is heard in front of the blue car. Salvo shifts his focus to the decimated vehicle parked in front of the blue car that he is currently crouched behind. Jutting out from between the two parked cars, Salvo spots the tall man creeping up on his position. Without a moment's delay, Salvo pivots and fires two shots at the man.

The muzzle of Salvo's viper rifle grows hot as two short bursts of red light project toward the tall man. The first blast catches him in the upper right shoulder, throwing his arm backward. He begins to slump over in a convulsion just as the second blast soaks into his stomach. He stands motionless for a moment and then falls against the side of the car. The pistol drops from his hand as he slowly sinks down in a crouching position. His body slumps over in a dead heap. The man rolls onto his back with his chest smoking.

As soon as Salvo recoils and conceals himself back behind the blue car, he hears a cacophony of overlapping sounds. A husky voice yells, "Man down! Man down! Waste that bastard!" No sooner does the sentence end does Salvo hear a hollow plunking sound. Suddenly, the car he is crouching behind explodes in a violent furry. The metal frame shreds apart like a paper sack as shrapnel is launched in all directions. The force of the blast sprawls Salvo out across the pavement face first. Several chunks of shrapnel and metal fragments sink deep into his urban assault armor.

Salvo's armor takes a heavy toll but absorbs most of the shrapnel and fragment damage. The blue car is left a smoldering chassis. Salvo lies stunned on top of his viper rifle with his vision blurred. From behind, he hears the voices of the men but cannot make out their precise location.

"Hold it right there, asshole. Roll over slow where I can see your hands," comes the quick rasp of a deep voice very close to Salvo.

A louder voice is heard from a greater distance. It is somewhat muffled by the burning fire of the car. "Wetsuit is done, man. Let's ice this piece of shit."

Salvo feels the pressure of a knee in the square of his back and a barrel of a pistol to the back of his head. Without a moment's delay, Salvo shifts his weight from the discomfort of his prone position. His viper rifle is felt lying beneath his chest, hopelessly out of reach from his sprawled out hands. Salvo briskly pulls his head away from the barrel of the pistol and peers toward the man he shot moments before. With a sweaty brow and a mean scowl on his face, the bald-headed man is seen walking purposefully toward Salvo while totting his jet black grenade launcher with both hands, waist-high, leveled at the ground. Salvo's adrenaline begins to infiltrate his blood stream as his mind calls for immediate action. The exhilaration is so intense that he barely perceives the roar of an automobile engine approaching in the distance.

In swift motion, Salvo writhes his body to his right in one muscular roll. With all of the man's weight on his knee displaced, the thug pinning Salvo down begins to fall to the right as Salvo rolls. Salvo's left arm swiftly comes up from the ground and knocks the man's pistol away from his head. Now with much more momentum, the man tumbles to his backside beside Salvo. Salvo pulls his torso erect and quickly draws his vibro blade tucked beneath his waist belts.

With a stunned glare in his eyes, the man struggles to poke his snub-nosed pistol in Salvo's direction. Salvo's arm raises the bright red force-field blade of his activated weapon. A momentary blush of fear rushes across the man's face as he meagerly attempts to deflect Salvo's blow with his left arm. The red energized blade of Salvo's weapon cuts deep into the man's arm. A fraction of a second later, the dead weight of his limb falls to the ground, severed from his body.

The stump within the man's green sweater releases a repugnant smell of burnt flesh. Salvo flicks the handle of his blade in a circular motion within his palm and stabs down at the man's neck in full force. The blade enters his neck with such gliding ease that Salvo barely notices that he has reached the asphalt below the man's body before he ceases his thrust. The man does not move and blankly stares up to the sky with frozen eyes. The cauterized hole in his neck emits a brief waft of noxious fumes. Salvo quickly deactivates his blade and spins to meet the bald-headed man.

The hollow shaft of the vibro blade clings against the hard ground just as Salvo grips his two pistols from beneath his trench coat. The bald-headed man takes aim with his grenade launcher at the two figures before him, ready to incinerate his fallen comrade along with his enemy. Salvo's left hand bucks and recoils with the firing of his Glock pistol as his right hand smoothly clips off two rounds of hydrogen fusion from his laser pistol. All in the same flurry, Salvo witnesses a black civilian ground car approaching the bald-headed man from behind, making no attempt to change its direction or speed.

Blood spurts forth as the bald-headed man shutters in pain with the first chunk of lead entering his bare chest. His open vest contorts to accommodate the piercing of the bullet. Just as blood spews from his right breast, a round of intense light smothers his lower abdomen. The grenade launcher in the man's arms lowers. Salvo sees a firmly-mounted, chrome grill plate come into direct contact with the man's lower legs from behind. The force of the car pushes the man's legs out from under him just as another bullet spits out from Salvo's Glock and sinks deep into the man's bare chest. While flying backward across the hood of the car, the remaining laser blast from Salvo's laser pistol singes the man's bloody torso.

The bald-headed man's body is flipped up over the on-coming car, becomes airborne for several seconds, and then lands face-first on top of the dilapidated wreck parked on the curb. He rolls off in a slump onto the sidewalk.

With a screech, the car immediately locks up its breaking system and banks to the left. In a cloud of burning rubber, the stealthy ride comes to a halt, parked broad side to Salvo's view, only a few feet before him. As Salvo remains sitting in the middle of the street with a pistol in both of his hands and a dead thug beside him, the rear passenger side door of the car opens. A large black human in a pin-striped suit stuffs the barrel of a double gauged shotgun out the open door in Salvo's direction. He speaks in an even voice and says, "Get the fuck inside the car- right now."

Without hesitating, Salvo returns his two pistols to his rear holster, then retrieves his deactivated vibro blade lying beside the fallen man and returns it to his waist belts. With a quick glance around the street, Salvo intentionally neglects the shotgun aimed in his direction and boldly reaches for his viper rifle on the ground near his position. He then raises himself to his feet and walks over to the bald-headed man's carcass.

"What the muthafuck…" the black man mumbles. "Can't this son of a bitch see that I got the drop on him?"

Salvo inches close to the bald-man's body and gathers up his .45 pistol lying next to his shoulder. While stuffing the newly acquired pistol in his belt, Salvo begins to loot the man's backpack. He unclips the man's satchel and discovers two clips of .45 caliber ammunition inside.

"Hey, dip shit!" the black man yells toward Salvo. "What the hell are you doing? Is you stupid?" The black man shakes his head in disbelief and then withdraws himself inside the vehicle.

Salvo grips his viper rifle with his left hand and grasps the two .45 clips with his right. He then runs to the vehicle waiting for him in the middle of the street and quickly sits himself down inside. Once seated inside, the black man reaches over Salvo and closes the passenger side rear door. "We're outta here, Clutch. Let's move!" he directs the driver.

The vehicle jolts off in a screeching hurry. A small cloud of smoke is left behind the car as the post-apocalyptic rubber tires spin in friction against the lumpy surface of the road. After three blocks of rapid travel, Salvo spots a sleek attack helicopter flying low above the buildings. It flies past the car at incredible speed toward the direction of the tavern.

The black man wipes a big stream of sweat off his brow. "Fuck me running," he mumbles to himself, while looking through the window at the chopper. He then looks at Salvo and says, "You better be worth this stress. I aint about to get my ass shot off for some grease stain pretty boy like you." He then leans his shotgun against the car door and reaches inside the jacket pocket of his pin-striped suit. His hand withdraws a silver hand-held communicator from the pocket. The black man places the communicator to his ear and mumbles, "We found him... The tail is clear... those bastards sent in an attack chopper. No, he wasted the three track team boys before we got there... will do. ... I'm sure he has it... Don't worry, I'm on it. If not, we'll just have to take the necessary precautions. Lates."

While holding out his hand, the black man turns to Salvo and says, "We need the shit. Boss wants a status report, pronto. Hand it over."

The car continues to speed out of town down a deserted urban road. Salvo places his viper rifle against the car door by his side. He then places the two .45 clips into his outer trench coat pocket and pulls his looted .45 pistol out of his belt. Salvo pops the clip to the new weapon and checks the ammunition load. After making note of the pistol's ammunition supply, Salvo places the clip back inside the pistol and returns it to his belt. He then peers outside the vehicle's window to chart the direction in which he is currently heading.

Several very uncomfortable moments pass as Salvo carries about his business and intentionally fails to respond to the black man's demand. "You mind telling me what this is all about?" he finally says in a distracted tone.

The black man looks at Salvo with a scowl and says, "You know damn well what this is about. Now hand over the shit you got from your dead partner back there and we'll talk business with the man."

Salvo looks at the black man with a neutral expression on his face. In a business-like voice he says, "First we talk business. Then we discuss what we're going to do with the thing you want."

The black man stares hard back at Salvo. Without blinking or moving his head he says, "Clutch, stop this bitch and pull over."

The driver responds in a twangy voice, "What you mean? We got to-"

"I said pull this muthafucka over!" yells the black man in return. The car suddenly comes to a screeching halt as it pulls along side the curb of a burnt-out neighborhood.

After leaning a bit forward, closer to Salvo, the black man begins to talk real slow. "Now you listen to me, pretty boy, and you listen good. I don't give a sack of shit who the fuck you think you is or how quick you are on the draw. If you cross the man, he'll bury you and all you pussy bullshit gear you got there. Hear me? You already got them Restie boys on your ass. Do you think you can take us too? You won't make it out of this city alive. Now, I'm only going to tell you one last time before Mr. shotgun over here dowses your ass with some 12-gauge buckshot. Hand over the shit or you best be prepared for some drama. "

Salvo looks calmly back at the man. He then places his hands together on his lap, close to his newly acquired .45 pistol, and says, "I appreciate the ride out of there...but I really have no idea what you're talking about. Now, don't think that I'm messing with you. I honestly have no freakin idea what you think that I have. So, if you want to kick me out here so be it. If you want to fill me in on what's going on, then maybe I can assist you in your quest to acquire what you think I have."

The black man looks quickly over at the driver and says, "Clutch, do I look like a bitch to you?"

The driver responds in a shaky, twangy tone, "Hell no, R.B. What you talking bout?"

"Well, if I aint a bitch, then why is pretty boy here trying to fuck me like one?"

"... I, uh... I'm not sure... maybe he-"

"Shut the hell up!" R.B. then focuses back on Salvo. "You damn well know what I'm talking about. Your buddy who just got splayed out back there hijacked the data disks from the Resties. You were to rendezvous with him at the tavern so he can introduce you to us. The dumb bastard might have been a good thief but he sure as shit wasn't smart enough to lose the tail they put him. The Resties took him out and from the communications we captured from Beachhead's short wave, they didn't find dick. So that leads us back to you. He hooked you up with the shit before he got iced. You sure as hell aren't gonna give that shit back to the Resties after you just wasted their track team. So what you gonna do with it now? You know damn well that we're the highest bidder and your jerkoff pal is on the man's payroll. So what you gonna do now, huh? You gonna hand over the shit or do I have to get my suit all messy?"

Salvo looks at R.B. and smiles. He quickly stops smiling after a brief moment and then utters, "I figured it was something like that, but he didn't slip me anything...and if he did, I didn't know about it. I checked my bag, nothing in there. I hadn't heard from that dude in who knows how long...then I get this message saying he wants to meet me. Then he gets himself wasted. If the discs are on me, I don't know about them. I could get out and check. But that might take awhile. So I guess you're going to have to decide if you want me to stick around for awhile and figure this out...or do I gets to steppin and take a cab home?" A credulous look creeps across R.B.'s face just as Salvo says with a smile, "Oh, and as for bitches, do you know where we could get some action? It's been awhile."

The driver looks at R.B. through the rear view mirror. R.B. gives him a slight nod and then sits back in his seat. With new determination, the driver then throws the vehicle in gear and is off in a flash back on the road. As the car approaches the Mizipi River, R.B. once again reaches into his side pocket and pulls out the silver communicator.

"Yeah, it's me. ... No, not yet. ... He says he don't know if the dude slipped him the juice or not. ... Hell if I know. Look, I'll deliver the pretty boy and you can deal with it. I'm out." R.B. flips a small flap on the phone and deactivates the cell. "I'm too tired for this shit... Clutch, speed this muthafucka up."

"You got it, R.B." Salvo begins to examine the interior of the car and notices a complex dash board of gauges and buttons in front of the driver. While keeping one hand on the wheel, the driver begins entering a sequence of buttons. Salvo then hears a computerized voice coming from the overhead: "Aerial ignition engaged. Seat belts required. Ascending in five seconds. 5... 4..."

Salvo watches as R.B. reaches up from behind himself and pulls a thick canvas strap across his chest. He inserts the end tab of the strap into a slot in his seat. "You best be strappin up, pretty boy!" R.B. blurts.

"3... 2..." the computerized voice chimes. Salvo momentarily twists around in his seat until he finds the canvas seat belt near his side of the vehicle. Just as Salvo buckles himself in, the computerized voice continues: "one second remaining... beginning ascent."

The normal friction of the road discontinues all at once as the vehicle tilts in a 30 degree angle upward from the ground. Salvo feels a slight jolt and hears the sound of an accelerating engine to the rear of the vehicle. "Ignition protocol engaged," the computer voice iterates. "Gravity pods on stand-by. Elevation 10 meters... 25 meters... 50 meters...75 meters... leveling off at 100 meters. Gravity pods engaged. Autopilot activated. Enjoy your flight."

The vehicle rides smoothly up into the air, a full 100 meters above the surface below. Salvo watches the driver pull on a headset. After lowering a mouthpiece from the headset into position, the driver begins to fidget with some knobs on the dash board in front of him. Salvo peers out of the passenger side window and watches as the destroyed city of San Luiz fades behind him. The car flies over the once majestic arc of the city, thought to be "the gateway of the West" as the Ancients called it. It has long-since crumbled in large chunks, scattered askew in the park below. As the vehicle approaches the large Mizipi River to the east, Salvo observes the driver beginning to focus heavily on the controls in front of him. As soon as the car flies past the river, the driver flicks a switch on the dash and begins to talk in his twangy voice into the mouthpiece from his headset.

"Clutch to hole, over." A moment of static passes and then a reply sounds: "We read you, Clutch. Report your status."

"Package en route. ETA 3 minutes."

"Copy that, Clutch. Hole out."

After observing the driver momentarily, Salvo takes careful notice of the interior of the vehicle and begins to assess the time that it would take to make a quick escape if circumstances demanded. Salvo then turns his attention to the large black man beside him and cautiously examines him from of the corner of his eye.

R.B.'s body type is very large. He appears to be a pure strain human, a very muscular human. Salvo estimates that the man stands nearly six and half feel tall and weighs an easy 250 pounds. The man is bald, with large, dark eyes, and appears to hold himself in a very confident manner. Whoever he is, Salvo figures that R.B. has status. Other than his most salient physical characteristics, Salvo finds it difficult to determine just what he may be packing. The pin-striped suit, tailored from post-apocalyptic polystrain fibers, is baggy enough to conceal a substantial armament. Salvo attempts to ease his apprehensions of what turn of events lie ahead. He casually takes another glance out of the passenger window and peers at the scared earth below.

Salvo takes notice of the large expanse of ruins on the east side of the river that lie sprawled out across the landscape like a parasitic fungus. The ruins look far older than anything that he has ever seen before does. The buildings are made of strange materials that are entirely absent in other parts of the wastelands that Salvo has visited. They stand in stark contrast to the Ancient architecture that once thrived just a few miles west of the great river. Very little plant life can be seen from the airborne view except for those resembling forms of sentient creatures walking about. Groupings of people can be seen below of every body type imaginable. But no pure strain humans are spotted.

The computerized voice again emanates from overhead, "Beginning descent. Terrestrial modality converted. Ambient thrusters engaging in 5... 4... 3... 2...1..." A loud suction noise is heard from below as the car begins to level off. The rear-mounted engine slowly dies down to a low roar. "Gravity pods deactivated. Weight negation transferred to central chassis. Prepare for landing."

Salvo continues to peer out the window as the vehicle declines rapidly into the central ruins below. The city streets are seen rushing past the vehicle. Low buildings pass the view in a scattered blur. Then, a few seconds later, Salvo feels a jolt. The driver is seen adjusting knobs and flicking switches as the car reduces speed to somewhere around 100 MPH. The vehicle rapidly coasts down a central street that has been cleared away of debris. There are no pedestrians walking about. This particular part of town seems darker than the rest. Salvo takes notice of the direction of the car and observes an approaching sign near a tunnel that reads "Columbus Boulevard Parkway" in big yellow letters. Just below the sign, it reads in smaller print, "EAST SAINT LOUIS TRANSIT SYSTEM." The sign is weather torn and littered with graffiti of all sorts but remains legible.

The vehicle slows down to an easy speed of 30 MPH as it approaches the underground service entrance to the subway system. Within seconds, the vehicle enters the subterranean tunnel. Salvo continues to mentally chart his surroundings but can see nothing but concrete walls around him. As the vehicle drives deeper into the tunnel, it becomes darker and darker until no sunlight can be seen from outside. The computerized voice from the overhead chimes in, "Halogen illumination activated." The front of the car lights up as a thick beam of light emanates from the hood and scatters about the tunnel ahead.

Within the pyramids of artificial light created from the vehicle's headlights, Salvo notices the concrete walls of the tunnel littered with a myriad of graffiti. The words "No Nukes" are spray-painted everywhere and there appears to be ancient clan symbols of all colors inscribed on the walls. Just as the car is about to enter below a concrete passageway, Salvo reads the words "welcome to the ghetto" in massive, green-painted letters sprawled above on the nearby wall.


End file.
